


Formless Rogue Sword: Sleepover Energy

by FollyOfWinchester



Category: Thunderbolt Fantasy 東離劍遊紀 (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Everyone is in on it except my man Shāng, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Smut, Fucking dense bastard, Hair Braiding, Hair Kink, Hand Jobs, M/M, Mutual Pining, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-09
Updated: 2019-07-09
Packaged: 2020-06-25 01:56:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19736026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FollyOfWinchester/pseuds/FollyOfWinchester
Summary: Líng Yá is fed up with Shāng and Làng dragging their feet, but will Lǐn's offer to shake up the status quo actually work? (Spoilers: The answer is yes.)





	Formless Rogue Sword: Sleepover Energy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mertiya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mertiya/gifts).



> I watched all of Thunderbolt Fantasy in like two days because Mertiya seemed taken by it and I wanted to read their fics. Fast-forward to today and I'm fucking shipping a trio of goddamn puppets. You're welcome.

Shāng jerks his head toward his new and not wholly welcome traveling companion back down the path a ways, “Why the hell is he still following us around? Guy like that can’t be enjoying all this sleeping on the ground and eating stale bread and the rest--”

Làng lets out a quick breath through his nose, and Líng Yá pipes up, “You really are the densest bastard in all of Xī Yōu, probably Dōng Li, too, at this rate!”

Shāng shoots an affronted glance at the pipa across his companion’s back. It scoffs in response.

“He’s followin’ us because he’s _smitten_ , just like every fawning damsel or wannabe swordsman who’s ever seen you in action, man! He’s just the first one who’s strong enough that you can’t rationalize leavin’ ‘im behind!”

“Well, that’s…” Shāng rubs his fingers along his brow, “I figure he’s just bored and, uh, enigmatic. Doesn’t seem like the type who’s capable of being ‘smitten,’ anyway.”

Làng rolls his eyes as the pipa cuts in, “And here it comes, just what I wanted to spend my time doing for the whole damn trip! Once again, ol’ Líng Yá’s gonna have to do the dirty work and break it to another starry-eyed convert of the Edgeless Blade that you’re basically a celibate monk, huh? Thanks! Thanks _again_ , oh wise Master Shāng, for your teachings in--”

Shāng lifts his eyes from facepalming, “Come on, don’t act like it happens that often. I’m not that--” 

Líng Yá’s voice is accompanied by Làng keeping track with his fingers, “Miss Xú from that village with the cursed well. The sole survivor of the Slicing Maple Dojo corruption. The heiress of the--”

“Okay, okay! Fine! Sheesh. Maybe it’s been a couple times now, but--”

“That innkeeper from--”

“Man, shut the hell up! I get it already! If that’s really what’s going on this time, which I’m not convinced of at all, _I’ll_ handle it. Especially if you’re gonna keep up this constant complaining.”

The pipa makes a dismissive noise, “I’ll believe it when I see it, tough guy.” Làng strides forward to put some distance between them and Shāng. Another dismissive noise from over his shoulder, “Can you believe this asshole?”

Làng just shakes his head.

-*-*-

Lǐn strolls within conversing distance of Làng and brings his pipe to his lips, “Beautiful weather we’re having, wouldn’t you say?”

Làng snorts, but his pipa remains silent.

“Oho, am I to be entertained by our bardic companion? No ‘step back or get stabbed’ today? Truly, I am honored by your change in comfort enduring my presence.” Lǐn inclines his head in Làng’s direction.

Làng grimaces and looks away, so Líng Yá takes over, “My man’s comfortable because he can see that the only way to curb your evil pipe bullshit is with our edgeless buddy around keeping you in check.”

The thief drapes his hand across his chest in an exaggerated sweep and jabs his pipe in Làng’s direction, “Such cruelty directed at someone who has been so endlessly forthcoming with assistance thus far. You wound me.”

Làng and his pipa scoff in unison, and the trio stride forward in silence for a few steps before Líng Yá breaks in again, “Man...you sure? Once I say it, it can’t be unsaid, y’know.” Làng makes eye contact with the pipa and gives a gentle strum of its strings, so it continues, “If you’re sure then...uh, Gale, he’s got some advice for you, not that you deserve it.”

“Oh?” Lǐn tilts his chin up with another extravagant gesture of his pipe, “How very generous of you. I can hardly contain myself to hear whatever deliciously sarcastic remark I’ve been deemed worthy of next.”

“Yeah, well, anyway, he says you’re gonna have to try a lot harder if you want to get anywhere. If ya know what I’m sayin’. The subtle shit ain’t gonna work.”

Làng inclines his head in Shāng’s direction where he walks 20 or so paces ahead of them.

Lǐn’s eyes grow wide for an instant, and he hums in response.

The pipa laughs, “What? Nothin’ to say for once?” At Lǐn’s continued silence, Líng Yá continues, “Don’t say we never did anything for ya.”

Làng picks up the pace and leaves Lǐn behind to contemplate their exchange. Once they’re out of earshot, Làng lets out a sigh.

“Shit, Làng. What are you doin’ here, man?”

Làng looks down at the ground briefly and then back up at the pipa.

“Yeah, I can sure as hell _tell_ you don’t know.”

-*-*-

Not like Shāng had never thought about it before. _I don’t hate the idea or anything. It’s just-- It’s just a lot of work is all._ Wandering around with a load of quasi-apocalyptic swords doesn’t lend itself well to having attachments to people or places or really anything at all. The fewer things he has to lose, the better.

Shāng mulls these thoughts over as he watches Lǐn bathe through the underbrush. He probably should have revealed his position and left as soon as the thief had made his way languidly down to the stream, but he had been there first, damnit. Meditating beside the running water had been going quite nicely, and Shāng had no intention of letting Lǐn’s sudden appearance spoil his sit. Plus, Lǐn had made quite a show of disrobing to the point that Shāng is fairly sure that he knows he’s being watched despite Shāng’s leafy concealment. But you can’t stubborn your way to calm and focus, so, instead, Shāng continues to peer over at the situation that is most assuredly spoiling his sit.

Lǐn’s back is toward the stream’s bank as he skims his fingertips over the surface of the waist-high water. Just as Shāng starts to contemplate leaving anyway even though it’ll be awkward given the timing, Lǐn turns his head to the side with his eyes shut and brings his fingers to his temple before stroking down through his pure white hair. As his fingers pierce through his waterfall-like tresses, he lets out a deep, syrupy sigh which turns into a breathy moan once his hands dip below the water’s surface.

Shāng lets an audible whisper of “whoa” escape his lips. _Okay, definitely too late to leave now. Guess I better, uh, wait this one out._ He braces himself and clamps his eyes shut for some plausible deniability against his urge to keep them open. _Why does this shrewd asshole have to have such sexy hair?_ Shāng wonders for a moment if somehow Lǐn had guessed his fascination with other people’s hair. He never talks about it, so it’s not like Lǐn could have overheard a conversation. And he hadn’t been able to _read_ the thoughts of the lawmen he’d taken control of with the Night of Mourning so much as input commands on a blank slate, but maybe it was possible for someone with Lǐn’s abilities to actually get in there and sift through a bit? Who knows... Regardless, this hair fetish is just another number down the list of things he never talks about, but probably should.

As much as Shāng hates to admit it, it really is about time for him to start channeling his big boy qi and stop using Líng Yá’s lack of a filter as a crutch for the more delicate social problems that come up in his line of work. _I said I’ll handle it, and I’m gonna. Just...not right now._ He cracks open one eye just as Lǐn turns more fully to the side with cock in hand. Lǐn gives another elaborate moan as he strokes his length and drags his other hand down the brilliant locks hanging against his naked chest. When the corner of his mouth twists into a mild smirk and his fiery eyes open to glance peripherally at Shāng’s ~~hiding place~~ meditation spot, he’s had enough. Having reached his limit for calculated moves in a game he didn’t ask to play, Shāng stands to leave as nonchalantly as he can manage.

Shāng curses under his breath as he hears “Oh, why, Sir Shāng! I didn’t see you there! How indecent of me!” from behind him, but he doesn’t even turn around. Just grunts and starts walking, because what else are you gonna do in a situation like that. _Yeah, yeah, ya cheeky bastard. All this effort being grouchy and unappealing, and this is what I get for it, every damn time. Fuck me._

-*-*-

With Shāng out foraging and Làng away bathing a short distance from camp, Lǐn sidles up to Líng Yá, “Since I have you for a moment without your master, might I take the opportunity to ask you something.”

“Come on, Gale. Ya really gonna corner me like this? And nobody’s my ‘master,’ thank you very much. I got a partner and that’s it.”

“Ah, do pardon my regrettable slip of the tongue. I promise it is just a single question, if you’ll indulge me.”

The pipa groans, “Fine, one question. But make it an easy one or I’m gonna pretend to be inanimate until Làng gets back.”

“So charitable, as always! Then tell me: how is it that, with someone so verbose as yourself in the mix, your two traveling companions are in such a state of affairs?”

Líng Yá is still and silent for several beats, almost long enough that Lǐn writes off the conversation attempt as a failure, but then it speaks, “One question, huh, thief? That’s gotta count as five or six at least, but then again you’re the first one to ever ask it. So,” a beat, “look, it ain’t my place to say those kinds of things, y’know? Even if I think they sure as hell need to be said. Plus, someone that thickheaded, with people fallin’ for him left and right all the time? Làng spends a lot of time imaginin’ the rush if Shāng was the one to say something first. He ain’t so good at expressing himself if ya haven’t noticed, enchanted voice or no. But damn, neither is Shāng! Watching this stalemate’s been pretty rough, but you don’t just spoil stuff like this by forcing it.”

“What the hell are you two talking about so seriously all of a sudden?” Shāng pokes his head into the tent with a bundle of root vegetables he’s managed to gather for dinner. “Where’s the usual sniping I’ve grown accustomed to? Don’t tell me you’re _getting along_ now.”

Lǐn gives a haughty laugh, “Nothing of the sort, I assure you! Líng Yá has merely grown exhausted by my tireless interrogations and finally given in to my charms.”

Líng Yá splutters in protest and Shāng furrows his brow at the pair.

Lǐn laughs again and taps his lips with the end of his pipe, “I’d advise you to do the same, Sir Shāng. I have to admit, I think about my time spent pulling your strings, our minds as one, and I dare say it sends chills down my spine.”

“Give it a rest already. I’m still totally humiliated from your little bath stunt, so do you have to lay it on so damn thick? Let a guy recover some dignity first. Shit.” Shāng sighs and makes his way back out of the tent toward the fire.

Lǐn smirks to himself and turns his attention back to Líng Yá, “Anyway, what I was leading up to is that, quite contrary to your partner’s advice, I think subtlety can be incalculably more effective than brute force. As you said, it isn’t something you _want_ to force. And if we’re to continue traveling together, I think resolving this situation is a priority, wouldn’t you agree?” He takes a long draw from his pipe.

“So what? You’re saying you wanna help?” Líng Yá regards him cautiously, “Why?”

“Entertainment, of course! My own amusement. Why else?” Another pull of smoke.

“Well, that checks out… So, you got some kind of plan, I guess?”

Smoke curls out from between Lǐn’s lips as he speaks, “Don’t I always?”

-*-*-

Shāng’s getting more than a little creeped out, if he’s honest. He can’t decide whether or not he’s going slowly insane. Maybe, finally, after all this time carrying around a bunch of cursed weapons on a big piece of paper, all the demon fumes are getting to him.

 _There they go again!_ Shāng whips his head in his traveling companions’ direction to find them innocently walking along behind him.

“Something amiss, Sir Shāng?” Lǐn indicates in Shāng’s direction with his pipe.

Shāng rubs at his brow, “No, uh...just...thought I saw something.” _I coulda sworn Lǐn was touching Làng’s hair again. Maybe I really am going insane._

It’s been a little more than a week now since Shāng had first noticed anything strange. There was a moment in the quasi-darkness of dusk; movement in his periphery that might have been Lǐn reaching toward the hair behind Làng’s ear only to have his hand batted away. Shāng had written it off at the time, but then it happened again. And again. And again. Never while he was looking directly at them. Never when he could point at them and say, “Haha! Caught you! Doing...whatever it is that you’re doing!” But the nature had changed; the batting and resistance from Làng had slowly stopped, and Lǐn had grown brazen enough that the light of day wasn’t stopping him anymore. Not that Shāng really should have anything to say about it. What two grown men get up to together is their business. But the fact that it’s so cagey, so...insidious. Plus, wouldn’t Líng Yá be the first to raise the alarm on that kind of shit? Are they all in it together, trying to hide it from him for some reason? Why? What is “it” in the first place? Shāng’s still not even sure anything is even going on or if he’s just imagining all of it. And he’s certainly not going to ask, that’s for _damn_ sure. But even just thinking about the possibility of anyone touching Làng’s long, dazzling, exquisite hair is doing something to him. And the fact that he can’t actually confirm that it ever even happened combined with the constant hyperawareness for the hypothetical event happening is utterly sapping his qi. _Talk about handling it… What the hell am I--_ As if the universe seeks to rub it in, a low-hanging tree branch twacks against Shāng’s forehead just as he notes how distracted he’s become.

Líng Yá’s somewhat grating voice rings out behind him, “Uh, Shāng, my man. You feelin’ alright up there?”

“Okay, just--” Shāng covers his face with his palm and stops walking, “Let’s stop here and make camp.”

Lǐn scoffs, “Why, the sun has barely started to sink toward the horizon. Shouldn’t we--”

“Look, I need-- Can’t a guy take a break once in a while without a damn inquisition?” Shāng storms a few paces ahead and drops his traveling bag onto the ground under a tree before heading off for a moment alone.

-*-*-

After a bit of time to collect himself, Shāng returns to find camp made and his companions not immediately in view. As he gets closer, he hears their hushed voices coming from the makeshift tent and heads over to join them. What he finds inside drains the color from his face. He can’t even muster the energy to be...upset? Confused? Vindicated? He doesn’t know. He almost turns around to leave again, but instead just shuts his eyes for a moment and takes a deep breath in and out through his nose.

Lǐn, with several tightly plaited braids already hanging in his blanket of white hair, sits at Làng’s back separating three bright locks between his fingers to begin another intricate braid. They both look up at Shāng and nod in greeting like nothing untoward is going on, and Líng Yá gives a nonchalant “welcome back from your little fit” from where it sits propped in the corner.

Shāng wants to yell right in his companions’ faces, to tell them how he knew all about their little scheme and they hadn’t fooled him for a moment, but what _is_ their scheme? They’re braiding each others’ hair in a tent. Shāng sighs and sits down.

Lǐn doesn’t even give Shāng a second look as he continues his work, weaving the strands of hair back and forth across one another. Despite desperately wanting to, Shāng would never have asked to do what this capricious interloper is now being allowed to in the dim coziness of the tent, would never want to burden Làng with his feelings and weird predilections. It was easier, wasn’t it? Even their regard for one another as friends sometimes got them into trouble; wouldn’t it be that much worse if they were lovers?

Shāng’s dreamy pondering is whipped into a much more heated torrent of thought as Lǐn finishes the braid and then smooths his hand down the length of it. With Lǐn’s palm sliding along the fruits of his intricate work, Làng lets out soft, satisfied hum that strikes like a thunderbolt at the base of Shāng’s spine. He watches as Lǐn’s fingertips lift to begin another braid, and, without really consciously deciding to, Shāng scoots closer to the pair and lifts his hands as if to replace Lǐn’s.

Lǐn and Làng both turn slightly to regard this new development, and Shāng shrivels under the scrutiny. With his outstretched hands hanging frozen in the air next to Shāng’s, Lǐn blinks at him, “Yes, Sir Shāng?”

Shāng starts to lower his hands in retreat, but then realizes he really, _really_ doesn’t want to. He’s so tantalizingly close to doing something he has wanted to do for an extremely long time, so, “Look...um...can I just--”

“Of course! Be my guest!” Lǐn drops his hands into his lap and wriggles away a bit to let Shāng in.

As soon as he slides up behind Làng, Shāng feels paralyzed. He looks at Lǐn, who returns his eye contact with an unreadable expression, then at Làng, who has turned his head just enough to stare back at him out of the corner of his eye, and then swallows with an audible gulp. There must be a trick. Demons have captured his companions and replaced them without him noticing. They’ve all been cursed by some kind of unseen mind-adling miasma. _Because this is…_ He knows he should be asking more questions; this definitely isn’t business as usual. But, he wants to touch. Shit, he wants to touch so badly it hurts, _burns_ with a fire that can only be matched by gathering up his companion’s equally fiery locks and getting lost within them for eternity. So he moves.

As Shāng’s fingertips slip between the radiant strands for the first beautiful, wonderful, astounding time, several things happen almost simultaneously. Làng’s throat rumbles with an otherworldly keening that is over far too soon, and it electrifies Shāng’s entire body with longing to hear it again. Shāng bites his lip to muffle a moan, and as he starts to curl his fingers more deeply into the experience, Làng’s palm lands smartly on Lǐn’s thigh and squeezes. Lǐn lets out a thrilled little gasp, and his eyes flutter shut just as Líng Yá, uncharacteristically silent until that moment, rasps an astonished “holy shit.”

Suddenly self-conscious at the near silent tension his intrusion into the situation has seemingly created, Shāng feels compelled to justify himself and his rapt enjoyment to his companions. As he pulls his calloused hands through the silky orange locks, his thoughts tumble unfiltered from his lips, “I--I never do this kind of thing. To my own hair, I mean. And--and you always do yours up so fancy. It’s just-- It’s a lot easier on someone else, y’know, so--so I’ve always wanted to try it, and--” Another desperate mewl from Làng breaks his compulsive rambling. He takes a moment to feel Làng’s qi, really notice him, breath in the moment. They’re so close, almost in full body contact from the waist up. But Làng’s face, his expression, his _eyes_ , Shāng wants to see everything, to touch everything. Without any calculation, Shāng untangles a hand to tuck Làng’s hair away from his cheek. “Your ears, they’re turning red,” he whispers in an awed voice. As he runs his fingertips along the curve of Làng’s ear and down along his neck, a shiver prickles through the exposed skin. Làng turns his head into his shoulder with another glorious keen and Shāng is nearly lost to the wonder of it all.

 _His lips._ “Làng, sorry, I can’t… This is--” Shāng shakes his head and shuts his eyes in an attempt to collect himself against every repressed longing that is now roiling at the surface of his mind, but it’s too little, too late. When he opens them again, their faces are somehow even closer, their breath mingling in the short distance between them, “This is too much.” And his composure breaks. The hand still swimming through Làng’s hair moves to grip the base of his scalp and the other moves to cup his jawline. Làng manages a breathy groan of Shāng’s name before Shāng drags him backward until their lips brush together. 

Shāng’s body feels like it’s going to melt from just that brief contact, and he pulls back only to dive back in with unbridled fervor. Làng’s lips are soft, his skin is smooth, his scent is intoxicating. Shāng is quickly swept away as their qi swirls and melds with every kiss, nip, bite, lick. A new cascade of energy around him and another skillful set of lips begs for his attention at the crook of his neck. He groans in surprise and breaks the kiss to catch a glimpse of Lǐn’s eyes glowing like festival lanterns from under his curtain of snowy bangs.

Lǐn suddenly cries out and falls backward onto his palms to reveal Làng’s wrist disappearing behind the superfluous finery of his robes, but Shāng’s chin is being twisted back to meet Làng’s hungry lips before he can really process the situation fully. Still, the idea takes hold that there are other parts of Làng he hasn’t yet touched, and Shāng slides his arms up to rest on Làng’s chest before pushing him over onto his back. Their lips part with a pop, and Làng lands with a huff of breath that almost instantly transforms into a supernatural growl, because Shāng is upon him like lightning. Almost like an out-of-body experience, Shāng watches in awe as Làng’s robs are shoved aside by his own hands, and he engulfs Làng’s achingly hard cock with the wet heat of his mouth. Làng’s moans and mewls build into an almost tangible melody that feels to Shāng like it is touching every part of him, flowing through him, penetrating beyond his physical form to feed the very deepest part of his love for the man who is singing.

A flurry of white hair tickles Shāng’s cheek, and Lǐn’s tongue darts out to lathe along Làng’s hip bone. On impulse, Shāng lets his hand replace his mouth for a moment and steals a kiss from the thief. Lǐn’s eyes roll back a bit and he groans before biting down hard enough to draw blood from Shāng’s bottom lip. As Shāng moves to fist his less occupied hand at the base of Lǐn’s scalp, he becomes aware that Lǐn is dexterously penetrating Làng with his fingers and nearly loses himself right there. Lǐn gives a devilish chortle as he breaks away and, in a celestial blue flash, Shāng’s clothing is cast aside and he’s on his back. Làng pounces; his knees slot in on both sides of Shāng’s waist and he leers panting down at Shāng’s exposed chest like a hungry animal. His heavy breathing stirs into a song that asks permission, asks forgiveness, asks for everything, and Shāng does the only thing he can think in answer. He grips Làng’s hips and pulls him down as he thrusts up. Làng is slick from Lǐn’s earlier attention, and Shāng is instantly buried to the hilt as Làng grinds down into him. The sound of Làng’s pleasure-raw voice crashes over Shāng, telling the tales of every daydream, every stolen glance, every savored touch, his gratitude for the thief’s plan, his unending admiration, loyalty, the unadulterated joy of being allowed to travel at Shāng’s side. His cock bobs against Shāng’s stomach with each thrust until they are both howling the other’s name without regard for volume or shame. Làng is there first, spilling onto Shāng’s exposed chest, but Shāng only lasts a breath longer before he’s pulsing into Làng's heat.

They sit panting in recovery for a moment before Líng Yá cuts in, “There! Now was that so fucking hard?!”

-*-*-

Later, once they’ve all cleaned up and rearranged the camp from the aftermath of their activities, the trio of men sit sharing a single blanket next to the fire in silence. What is there to say that their qi didn’t already communicate for them? They all know what they want, and now they can all have it whenever they like.

Shāng mentally thanks the thief for sticking his nose in and lets out a contented sigh when an errant thought bubbles up. Well, maybe there is one important point to make.

“Uh, guys, in the future, don’t...just don’t braid each others’ hair if you want to actually get any rest.”


End file.
